Art of Quiet
by Lady Lioness
Summary: Short character study of Emmett. He reflects on his favorite type of moment with Bay. No spoilers. EMMETT/BAY


Author's Notes: I'm hearing impaired, meaning with aids, I can hear just fine. Still, I can't help but relate to Emmett. When I'm out by myself, in a crowded place, sometimes I'll just turn off the aids and "check out." I haven't seen the entire season yet (I know what happens; I watched the Bay/Emmett clips on YouTube), so forgive me if anything seems a bit out of character. In my head, this moment occurs between episodes eleven and twelve.

* * *

Being with Bay means putting up with occasional moments when she checks out. Her eyelashes flutter quickly, once, twice, three times, as she looks at something only she can see. They always end up in her garage, the door open to keep them from suffocating on paint fumes. In the beginning, she used to fight it, claiming it'd be rude to bail, but he finally managed to convince her that he didn't mind. A quick kiss on the cheek, her fingers already twitching, and then she's lost in an artistic haze.

He'd never say it to anyone, but he enjoys the quiet moments with her the best. Not those long, languid, moments they spend wrapped up in each other, not talking at all, the scent of her skin rising up, her muscles tensing as his hands curl just below her breasts. No, his favorite moments are when she's at her easel and he's sprawled out somewhere nearby.

He's never known any world but a silent one. He doesn't know laughter, raindrops hitting a roof, or guitar strings being strummed. It's impossible to miss what you never had and, quite frankly, he never gave two shits about it all, until now. Now, though, now, he admits he's a little curious about the puff of air that Bay lets out when her face is pressed against his neck. Is it a sigh or simply an exhale? Is she muttering to herself, forgetting he can't hear her or is she taking advantage of that fact?

When she first starts working on a piece, her hair is always loosely tied back, tendrils occasionally breaking free. She flits around, opening this drawer, that cabinet, as she looks for the right brush or the perfect color, throwing him a distracted smile when their gazes connect. He doesn't feel like Emmett the deaf guy dating a hearing girl; he's just a boyfriend who's watching his girlfriend absently smear green paint along her cheekbone.

With Bay, he feels more himself than he's ever been. He's not his parents' son or Daphne's best friend. To her, he is just Emmett and he feels like he's learning who that is, right along with her. It's a slow discovery, ebbing out in drips and drabs. She still forgets, sometimes, and will start talking before she's fully turned around or gotten his attention. Sometimes, he has to repeat himself three times before she understands what he's saying. It can be insanely frustrating.

This is why he prefers the quiet moments when they can just simply be. He reads or does homework or screws around on his laptop, sneaking peeks at her while she pours out a piece of her soul for the world to see.

He will live with the frustration so he can have these moments. And, really, every day is a little bit better than the first. She knows he can never fully enter her world and therefore she's trying so hard to fit into his. There's a dogeared stack of flashcards in her purse, simple, common phrases, that she studies during minutes she snatches from her day. When they're on a date, Bay stares at his hands fiercely, as if it were possible that, with enough concentration, she could instantly divine and memorize the meaning behind his every gesture. Sometimes, she stubbornly insists that he quiz her. He usually lasts about fifteen minutes before he starts talking dirty and she catches about half of it now. Her cheeks turn ruddy, the motion of her chest stutters a little, and then they're making out.

Those kind of moments are his second favorite.

Vibrations reverberate against the floor and he glances over to see her moving away from the cd player. She's still in her own world, dropping a paint brush into a glass jar, tugging out the hair tie as she stares at the canvas, her hips swaying a bit to the beat. He taps his foot along with the rhythm. Dropping his graphic novel on top of his backpack, he pivots in the chair, watching her. Soon she'll blink a few times before tossing her hair over her shoulder and turning to search the room for him. When she sees him, a joyous smile will spread across her face, like it's the first time they've seen each other in a week. He can't remember seeing that smile from anyone else before, not even Daphne. It's only Bay that looks at him as if he just brought the sunlight into a darkened room.

There's no pattern for what will happen next. Her fingers might wrap around his wrist, as she tugs him out of the garage, swearing that she's starving. She'll practically unload the refrigerator onto the kitchen table, especially if there are leftovers from a Daphne meal. Sometimes she'll be riding a high and demand he take her out on his bike. He's learned she'll crash about an hour after that, ending up all sleepy and cuddly. He's memorized a circular route that's satisfies her need for speed, but still gets them back to her place in time for snuggly Bay. On rare occasions, her smile shrinks to a predatory smirk and that's his cue to get the garage door closed. If he's too slow, she'll end up straddling him, her tiny girly hands trying to hold him down, as she distracts him with the feel of her lips attacking his. They've gotten caught twice like that and he doesn't have any desire to relive either experience.

He stands abruptly, crossing over to the entrance, to drag down the door. The space dims as he shuts out the light and everything else in the world, parents, family, expectations, anything that would jar them out of this little oasis. When he turns, she's looking at him, eyebrows arched, the corners of her mouth quirked up, but she keeps her hands loose at her side. He moves back to her and she wraps her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. Sometimes, he thinks, she likes the quiet moments too.


End file.
